


The Gladstone Gambit

by Nan_Golden



Series: The Gladstone Chronicles [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nan_Golden/pseuds/Nan_Golden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They aren't clients," Sherlock hissed at John. "Stop! Don't move, don't breathe!"<br/>"Is this another drugs bust?" John whispered.</p><p>A standalone story in the Gladstone Chronicles, following the adventures of Gladstone at Baker St.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gladstone Gambit

Sherlock sighed. His head lolled back as he sprawled in his chair. He had counted the cracks in the ceiling several times; that had occupied forty seven seconds. They looked rather like spidery veins. Listing the components of the human circulatory system in alphabetical order took care of another three minutes and thirty seven seconds. Tedious. There were perfectly good veins in the icebox not being utilized for science because of this interminable interruption.  Sherlock sighed again and sank further into his chair. 

A teaspoon was rapped on his knee. 

"Sherlock," Mummy said, placing her teaspoon back onto the tea tray, "You have a perfectly functional spine. Kindly use it." Mycroft smirked and John stared dumbfound when Sherlock sat up straight. Sherlock even shifted his gaze off the ceiling onto Mycroft's  stupid smug face. 

****

It had been a quiet Sunday at 221b Baker Street – John reading pointless literature on the sofa, Gladstone snoring by his feet  and Sherlock dissecting a rat brain on the kitchen table to further the study of science – when a knock on the door caused Sherlock's scalpel to slip.  Sherlock flared his nostrils as a hint of familiar cologne oozed it's way beneath the door. 

"I hope that's a client," John said at an unnecessarily loud volume as he thundered over to answer the door, Gladstone following. "It's been a bit quiet, hasn't it?"

A whiff of perfume mingled with the cologne, causing  Sherlock to drop his scalpel and freeze in panic. 

"They aren't clients," Sherlock hissed at John. "Stop! Don't move, don't breathe!" 

"Is this another drugs bust?" John whispered.

"No, it's worse." Sherlock crouched beneath the kitchen table while John stared in befuddlement. 

"Are you being dramatic again?" John boomed as the knocking resumed, sealing Sherlock's fate. Really, he thought, John should have more trust in me. I only drugged him that one time… that he knew about.  

"Sherlock," Mummy called through the door, "do open up. We know you and John are at home."

"We can only hope he'll be wearing trousers," Mycroft added.

"He's just coming!" John called, beaming brightly while Gladstone wiggled happily in circles at his feet. "Sherlock, get up." 

Sherlock huffed, crawled out and put on a nonchalant expression. John opened the door and greeted Agnes and Mycroft Holmes and Mrs Hudson. 

"How wonderful to see you again, Agnes!" John exclaimed. "I had no idea you were in town."

"That was rather the point," Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. "Mrs Hudson was most helpful in arranging our visit and provided some refreshment." He was holding a loaded tea tray, the teapot covered with a purple cozy topped with a bobble. Sherlock glared at the bobble. 

Cheeks were kissed, hugs exchanged, hands were shaken, tea poured and inane chatter commenced. Gladstone sat in his usual spot by Mummy, his gaze tracking every bite and sip she took. Mummy had not yet succumbed to his pleading eyes and given him a forbidden morsel, but Gladstone never gave up hope.  

Sherlock, on the other hand, had given up hope long ago. It had been fifty four interminable minutes since tea began and they were _still_ chattering. Dull, dull, dull! What could possibly be so interesting? Bits of the conversation broke through the white noise, something about the fresh air of the countryside and how much Gladstone would enjoy himself. Mummy and John's voices were inexplicably enthusiastic. 

"That would be fantastic, don't you think, Sherlock?" John asked, startling Sherlock from his elaborate plans for the utter destruction of Mycroft's ridiculous umbrella in a wind resistance experiment. For science, of course. 

"Yes, wonderful," Sherlock flapped a hand vaguely toward John, enthralled by his vision of the umbrella's impending doom and Mycroft's satisfying irritation.  

"So glad you think so, brother," Mycroft smiled broadly, eyes glittering with joy. Mycroft looked, happy? Sherlock had a forbidding feeling that he had missed some vital piece of data which would, to use John's colorful vernacular, bite him in the ass.

Sherlock scowled and was about to ask why Mycroft was so cheerfully out of character, when his attention was diverted by John clearing his throat. Sherlock stared at John in confusion. John tipped his head minutely in the direction of Mummy. A hopeful and surprised Mummy. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. What had Mycroft done? Using Mummy to checkmate Sherlock? How unfair! 

"Well that's settled then," John replied. "Sherlock, Gladstone and I will visit in three weeks and stay for the weekend."  

"But, John, what if Lestrade needs me for a case?" Sherlock asked in desperation.

"I have a feeling that the Yard will manage," John said. "In fact, I feel _certain_ that Lestrade will manage just fine without us on that particular weekend." 

That was so blatantly untrue, Sherlock scarcely knew where to begin his rebuttal. Et tu, John? Mycroft must have corrupted, then recruited John and Mrs. Hudson in his machinations. Obviously. They could never have been so devious otherwise. 

"Wonderful," Mummy smiled at Sherlock, looking very pleased indeed. "It's been a long time since your last visit."

Sherlock's heart raced for reasons which had nothing to do with his brilliance.  

The visit concluded shortly afterwards, Mummy giving a shellshocked Sherlock a long and tight hug before leaving with Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft lingering in order to bask in Sherlock's annoyance before leaving behind the flotsam  of the tea for John to clean up. How inconsiderate.  

"You," Sherlock glared at John. "What." 

"Now, Sherlock," John began collecting the cups and saucers for washing, "we're going and that's final. Sulking isn't going to do you any good." Gladstone dogged his steps, eyes firmly locked on the tea tray, hoping John might 'accidentally' drop a crumb or two as usual.  

"Mycroft!"

"Sherlock! Your Mummy…er, mother shouldn't have to resort to schemes in order to see you!" 

"Mummy?"

"Yes, it was Mum–Agnes' idea."

"But, Mycroft!"

"Is no match for your mother." 

No, he wasn't. 

Well.

Sherlock could be gracious in defeat. Magnanimous even. Despite what John thought.   

"Well played, Mummy. Well played." Sherlock murmured. 

John agreed wholeheartedly.

 

 


End file.
